


Threshold

by Lox



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ableist Language, Blood Drinking, Body Horror, Breathplay, Bugs & Insects, Bulges and Nooks, Dubious Consent, F/F, Knotting, Mind Control, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Minor Character Death, Pheromones, Quadrant Confusion, Temporary Character Death, Xenobiology, Young Ancestors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3168002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lox/pseuds/Lox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You had sought to bear the burden of your caste, to become a herald of your species' future by becoming the servant of another. You had never learned to tread the line between slavery and valor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gilwing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilwing/gifts).



> Who asked for a Dolorosa character study; definitely not canon-compliant and leaning towards some kind of "if some of the ancestors knew each other before the events we know about" AU zone, but I was hoping it could be interpreted as canon-cohesive and fit in as sort of a backstory type thing, but it didn't really work out that way.
> 
> I was really interested in the idea of a largely mutualistic symbiotic relationship (in terms of a species-species level) that evolved between the troll species and whatever species the Mother Grub is, and how that is interpreted and ritualized in cultural and social terms. I might eventually post an explanation-type post for my complete thoughts, since I wrote one anyway for my own reference, and since it is viewed through a magnifying glass in the story.
> 
> Also, I couldn't stop imagining Mindfang and The Dolorosa having personalities much more similar to Vriska and Kanaya, respectively. I imagine them growing into personalities more similar to Aranea and Porrim as they mature, maybe. I don't know how The Disciple fits into this idea here since I wrote her more similar to Meulin—I realized having The Disciple here at all might not even make sense, but I didn't want to remove her.
> 
> At any rate, I hope that this is an interesting and hopefully enjoyable read!

Blazing bright red, the Alternian suns sink slowly beneath the horizon; you rake the ground and draw the dirt into neat lines, savoring the last moments of the sun’s heat and light. You lusus lays beneath the shade of one of your many fruit bearing trees, dozing in the pleasant warmth of the vanishing evening. Next to her, the pages of the book you were reading— _A Sultry Tale Of A Young Jade Blood Searching For And Eventually Accepting Her Rightful Duty In Alternian Society And Becoming A Rainbow Drinker In The Process_ —rustles in the dry desert breeze. You take in a deep breath of the clean air, reveling in the green oasis you have created around your hive, filled to the brim with plants of all sorts, glistening with beauty in an otherwise dead land. You kneel down to sow the seeds of your newest additions, regrettably your last gardening endeavor of the day. Most trolls detest the harsh light and cannot bear the blistering heat that the day brings, but for you—the heat radiates through your veins, invigorates you, it makes you feel alive.

The night always comes too quickly. The Alternian desert, like all of Alternia, is a place crawling with predators, always hungry and searching for their next meal. They would relish all too much the opportunity to chew off the head of a young troll and would indulge in the soft flesh of your lusus’s body. So as always, you have ushered her into her room for the night, and you have retreated to your own. 

You enjoy the quiet night, your eyes beginning to grow heavy after being cozied up in a blanket and reading more of _A Sultry Tale_ ; you yawn and reach for your bookmark, a ruffled cobalt feather, before placing it onto your nightstand next to your olive painted tea cup, playfully decorated with purrbeast paws. Rubbing your eyes, you go to turn off your reading torch, leaving your room dark save for the light of the moons filtering through one of your windows. You’re exhausted from the day’s work, and after shutting your recuperacoon’s doors and settling into the warm slime, you quickly drift off to sleep.

* * *

_Click. Click. Click._  
Head heavy with sedation, you are slowly dragged back into consciousness, gradually becoming aware of the subtle clicking and scraping noises against the surface of your recuperacoon. Rolling over in the slime, you look up. Perhaps it’s the sedation still clouding your mind, but filtering through the semi-translucent purple walls of your cocoon are little balls of white light, star-like and swirling around, their movement jittery and active. Despite the persistent rubbing of your eyes, you can still hear the unsettling _click, click, click_ of tiny claws, accompanied by a cacophony of insistent churring and chirping. 

Then it occurs to you. The congregation around your cocoon, the scraping, and the chirping, as if they are calling out to you—whatever they are, they’re trying to get to you. You feel yourself tense up, your blood pusher quickening, panic pulsing through your body; you sit there for a few moments, uncertain of what to do, but what finally stirs you into action is the thought of your mother. You don’t know how long they’ve been invading your hive, and with the amount of time you’ve wasted in sleepy unawareness and panicked non-action, your nighttime visitors may have already made quick work of her. 

You tear open the doors of your recuperacoon and bodies of the creatures go flying off, hissing and squeaking as they go; many of them land on the ground, flopped on their backs with their six legs flailing wildly in the air while they try to buck themselves back up on their feet by flicking out their wings against the ground. Their abdomens are lit up like lamps; if you were not in such as state of panic, you might be so inclined to catch one and stare at the intriguing otherworldly light in wonderment on a lonely night in your hive. One flies towards your face and you grab it just below its thorax with one hand—the insect struggles, its wings buzzing frenetically, and gnashes its mandibles at you and suddenly whips its head around, biting down on your wrist, drawing out the barest bit of blood. You hiss and waste no time tearing off its head while it squirms and squeals. It leaves an oddly familiar jade smear of sticky bug-blood dripping from your hands. You crush their hard shells with your bare feet and you shiver at the horrendous cracking noise it makes as you run for the door, your body still slick with warm sopor slime. 

Sprinting down the hall, the insects follow after you in hot pursuit. You practically slam into the door of your mom’s room while your try to grasp the door knob with jittery hands; you slip inside the room as quickly as you can and shut and lock the door with a definitive click. The insects hit the door with light thuds, and the number of their impact makes it sound akin to rain striking the desert’s hard, parched ground. You see bright white light streaming from under the door and their clawed legs shoved in the gap between the floor and the door, banging against it and reaching out for you. They sing out in a screeching chorus that borders on sad, almost whining.

Your lusus is asleep on the elegant patterned jade and white carpet that you had sewn for her, and the light of the moons streams through the window glass, illuminating her form—you see the gentle rise and fall of her abdomen, and when you walk up to her you release a tentative, relieved sigh knowing that she’s okay. But another noise catches your attention—it’s a low buzz, distinct from the higher pitched buzzing of the insects outside your door. A large, luminous, slow blinking light floods your vision—you squint to see a huge insect, rivaling the size of your lusus, maybe even slightly bigger, as it hovers just outside of the window, and its oversized curved mandibles make a cold sweat drip down the back of your neck. You hear the persistent slamming of the smaller insects against the door. You’re certain that this is the end for you and your dear mother who, bless her soul, hasn’t so much as even shifted in her sleep. 

Yet the insect outside just hovers there. Its big, empty eyes fixed on you. Staring. Its only movement is the slight sway of its hover at the low humming of its big, chitinous wings. You grip your mom’s horn while staring right back at it, the only thing you’re really able to do. The insect slowly starts moving forward, trying to get to you, but bumps dumbly against the glass with a heavy thunk. 

You scramble to hide behind your lusus’s large body, peering just above her thorax to watch the behemoth; frankly, you’re surprised that the lumbering beast did not break through the glass—it is certainly large enough. Whatever happens, you would rather not have “riddled with glass shards while ogled by giant bug” added to it, so your lusus will temporarily have to be relegated to the role of meat shield. Sorry, mom. 

Then you feel feather-light touches against your leg and you scream (your mom finally perking her head up at the sound)—your blood pusher beating a thousand times a second, one of the small bugs, dragging itself limply on injured legs, brings something to you, held tight in its mouth-parts. Distracted by the insect outside of the window you didn’t notice the cracked door, insects streaming in. The injured one drops what looks like a parchment at your knees and huddles up to you like the rest. Needless to say, you are extremely uncomfortable being surrounded by the glowing swarm. But they seem content in resting by your side for the time being, not at all interested in biting you. The scroll feels like silk to the touch; curiosity overrides the discomfort and you unravel the paper.

What’s inside is hardly legible, erratically shaped, vaguely Alternian-looking writing smeared on the smooth paper:

JADE BLOOD,

ORDER TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION INTO AUXILIATRIX SERVICE.  
ALLOW CONSORTS TO LEAD YOU TO BROODING GROUNDS. ARRIVE PREPARED FOR MORTUNIONSHIP. LITTLE TIME LEFT. COME QUICKLY. DISMEMBERMENT POSSIBLE IF DUTY REFUSED. 

The parchment is stamped with the Imperial Seal of the Alternian Empire, and you reread the short message over and over again, making sure to carefully carve out every hardly legible word, to make absolutely sure you’re reading what you think you’re reading. This is definitely not how answering the call of your jade blood duties was spoken of in _A Sultry Tale_ , and you’re quite lost on the word “mortunionship,” but the message is clear.

The terrified beating of your heart morphs into jittery excitement, a rickety smile peeling onto your lips. You stand up and gently tug at your mom’s horn to get her to look at you.

“It’s finally happening,” you say, and you’re going to pretend that that’s pride reflecting back at you in your lusus’s shiny ocelli, rather than complacent unknowing. “I’m going to become an Auxiliatrix.” 

The insects scuttle at your feet, and there’s no time to lose. Preparations must be made for your trip.

* * *

The suns begin to rise, pink against the horizon. You sit snugly against the large insect’s back, sheltering yourself from the cold winds that blow over you as you soar high over a body of water, having long since crossed over your familiar desert and leaving your oasis behind. The cloud of smaller insects flies alongside of you, an entourage of swirling white light. Your stomach churns in equal parts anxiety and excitement, and it feels as if you’ve been in transit for an eternity. You’re restless, fingers jittering against the insect’s carapace, your mind a flurry of expectations and unanswered questions and worry. So you reach for your bag and shuffle through the small mountain of sentimental items and pull out your tablet. You settle back down again with your tablet, and—oh, thank god she’s here.

griefAssented [GA] began beseeching abyssinianCourier [AC]

GA: Meulin I Have Some Incredible News To Impart To You  
GA: Youll Never Guess Whats Happened Today  
GA: Or What I’m Currently Partaking In  
GA: I Can Hardly Believe It Myself  
AC: (^・ω・^) < Ohhh. G333. Emmm.  
AC: (=TωT=) < You and Aranea finally got together!!! Omggomomggommog I knew it. I knew it!!! I was so sad when she left on her crazy pirate ship to go off and do her crazy pirate things since I know you two have been waxing red for each other for so long, but NO ONE can deny destiny! Omg I can't even... this is so great... (=；ェ；=)  
GA: Eugh  
GA: This Has Nothing To Do With Her Or My Love Life For That Matter  
GA: Also She Wants Us To Call Her Mindfang Now Since She Embarked On Her Ridiculous Journey Of Self Discovery  
AC: (^・x・^) < Ooops!!! Sorry... you're right. Hehehe!!! (=｀ω’=)  
GA: Debased Quadrant Speculation Aside  
GA: What I Was Trying To Say Is That I Was Finally Called To Fulfill The Auxiliaxtrixs Duty Like Ive Been Waiting For My Whole Life  
GA: Im Flying To The Brooding Grounds Right Now  
GA: Im On A Giant Insect  
GA: I Only Feel Slightly Ridiculous  
AC: (=°・°=) < Ummm...  
AC: (^・_・^) < WHAAAAAAAAAT?????????  
AC: (=ＴェＴ=) < Omggg... first Mindfang and now you??? Why didn't you tell me??? Am I ever going to s33 you again??? Am I even going to get to TALK to you anymore?????????  
GA: Im Sorry I Didnt Mean To Keep You Uninformed  
GA: In Fact Youre The First Person Ive Contacted About This I Really Have Not Had Much Time  
GA: I Hardly Had Time To Say Good Bye And To Set Up The Necessary Amenities For My Lusus Before Rushing Off  
GA: I Had To Hurry Because The Auxiliatrix Seems To Be In Some Sort Of Trouble  
AC: ヾ(=°・°=)ノ < Oh nooo! Do you know what's happurrning with her???  
GA: I Dont Know  
GA: Do You Know Much About The Auxiliatrices  
AC: ヾ(=°-°=)ノ < Hmmmmmmmmm... not much outside of those steamy books you always talk about. (=｀ω’=)  
GA: If You Are Refurring To The My Interest In Rainbow Drinker Novels  
GA: I Mean Referring  
GA: Then I Think That You Should Know That Being An Auxiliatrix Is Not The Same As Being A Rainbow Drinker  
GA: An Auxiliatrix Being A Jade Blood Chosen To Care For The Mother Grub  
GA: Though The Auxiliatrices Always Seem To Be Rainbow Drinkers As Far As Ive Read  
GA: For Whatever Reason That Seems To Be The Case  
GA: Anyway I Am A Bit Worried Because Rainbow Drinkers Cannot Die Unless They Are Killed  
GA: She Said She Did Not Have Much Time Left  
GA: So  
GA: Im A Bit Worried That I May Have A Murder Case On My Hands When I Arrive At The Brooding Grounds  
AC: (^・_・^) < ...   
AC: (=TェT=) < Porrim!!!!!!!!! I'm worried about you!!! Should I call Latula and get her on this?????????  
GA: No Please Dont The Grounds Do Not Allow Strangers  
GA: Er At Least Ive Read  
GA: Besides I Think Its Going To Be Okay  
GA: There Will Be Other Auxiliatrices There To Help And Also Lead Me Through The Ceremony To Become An Auxiliatrix  
GA: And Teach Me How To Fulfill My Duties  
AC: (^・o・^) < CEREMEOWNY????????? Omg!!! Do you know what kind of stuff they're going to do??? Omg. I bet there's going to be tea. And kissing!!! I don't know how but there WILL be kissing. (=^-ω-^=)  
GA: Uh  
GA: To My Understanding It Has To Do With Becoming A Rainbow Drinker  
GA: As I Mentioned It Seems To Be A Requirement For Being An Auxiliatrix  
GA: In Her Letter The Auxiliatrix Mentioned A Thing She Called Mortunionship  
GA: Im Not Sure Exactly What That Will Mean But It Will More Likely Be A Ritual Having To Do With Biting Rather Than Kissing  
AC: (=^･ω･^) < Mortunionship...  
AC: (=°・°=) < MortunionSHIP...   
AC: (^・_・^)ノ < Porrim.........  
GA: What  
AC: (=^-ω-^=) < This sounds SUSPURRCIOUSLY like a matter of the heart!!!  


You roll your eyes and take a moment to look up from the tablet; you and the insect cloud are in rapid approach of what looks like a dark forest, and you grip the insect’s back and hold onto your things as the bug suddenly starts losing altitude, trees flying past your face as you descend towards the forest floor. Your insect lands just outside of a corridor of trees, too narrow for it to fly through, and almost immediately the little insects start crawling towards you and touching your legs and body with their feather-light touches. They chirp at you, impatient, pulling at your clothes, wanting to pull you into the corridor.

GA: It Appears That Ive Arrived  
GA: Of All The Things The Brooding Grounds Could Have Looked Like A Forest Is Not Something I Would Have Suspected

Frigid air blows cold over your skin, the long sleeves of your dress not being enough to shield you. The air smells of the sea, and the leaves of the forest’s canopy ominously rustle in the breeze. Fog drifts slow across the ground, and looking into the corridor, all you can see is mist fading into darkness, no sign of life beyond the insects around you to be found. You’re shivering, and you’re certain it’s not just because of the weather. 

GA: I Know That The Auxiliatrices Are Here Somewhere But What If Theyre Not And Im Stuck Talking To These Bugs My Whole Life  
GA: What If They Don’t Let Me Become An Auxiliatrix Even  
GA: I Might As Well Walk Up To The Queen Herself And Present To Her The Useless Pile Of Failure I Turned Out To Be And Cull Myself In Front Of Her If Thats The Case  
AC: (^・o・^)ノ < Shhh, Porrrim shhh… it’s okay. Listen!!!  
AC: (=^ω^=) < I'm SO purrroud of you!!! You're going to be the BEST Auxiliatrix EVER and you're going to be SO cool!!! Like the ladies in the books!!!!!!!!! Just think of them when you’re scared!!!  
AC: ~(=^‥^)ノ < Just, be careful though.  
GA: Okay  
GA: Ill Be Sure To Contact You As Soon As I Can

griefAssented [GA] ceased beseeching abyssinianCourier [AC]

You slap the insects away as they clamber atop of you, trying to get your attention. You give the insects a warning hiss while cramming your tablet back into your bag and standing up, brushing off your gown. You hop off the huge insect and onto the soft ground below, rain sodden and moist with forest debris. Most of the light here is afforded to you by the insects. The canopy of the forest is so thick and tall that only the smallest traces of light make it to the detritus below, robbing you of your chance to enjoy the sunlight. You don’t like it one bit, but you move onward, following them into the mouth of the forest. 

You’ve been walking for what seems like a long time now, and you hear it long before you see it—a buzzing swarm of white lights swirling around something on the ground—it’s becoming increasingly strange to you how these insects always move in a bizarre twisting motions. You approach the cloud, the insects in front of you leading you on, the insects behind you chirping at your heels and pushing forward. 

You squint to see through the masses of insects, scuttling around on top of something. Your heart skips a beat when you notice thin fingers against the ground, and recognize in a sudden instant that you’re looking at a bunch of insects swarming on a body. You lurch forward and dive into the congregation, the fast beating of little wings against your ears while they scatter, and you pull the woman by her thin shoulders onto your lap. Next to her is a puddle of spilled green ink, the bottle tipped over in the muck, and a pen cast aside into the ground.

Her eyes are drawn loosely shut, her mouth hanging open slightly, and her cheek bones protrude in a portrait of emaciation. Shivering, you place two fingers against her wrist in search of a pulse; her sleeves droop slightly and on her skin are twisting black stripes, noticing the intricate tattoo curling up on the side of her neck as well. You feel nothing in her wrists, her body cold in your grasp. You move your fingers to her neck, just below her chin. Cold. So you are surprised when her eyes flutter open and her skin lights up, white with the barest hint of illumination. She looks up at you with her glowing yellow eyes, her pupils sliver thin—she doesn’t quite look you in the eyes, as if seeing straight through you. She moves her eyes sporadically before settling on a single point below your chin, surely seeing how you try to swallow down your nervousness.

“Are you the Auxiliatrix who sent for me?” You manage to sputter, suddenly feeling guilty for not, somehow, coming faster. Wet drops of rain begin to fall on the two of you while she lifts her cold, shaking hand and places in on the crook of your neck, and with probably every ounce of her last strength pulls herself up and pierces the soft hide of your throat with her fangs right on your pulse with deadly efficiency, without even needing to touch. You're too horrified to let out so much as a squeal as she pulls her teeth out of your throat and drinks the blood beating out in desperate, throaty swallows. You’re dizzy at the loss of blood, and you’re almost certain that she’s going to drain every fluid ounce of blood from you right here and now, leaving you as part of the forest’s detritus. 

She gives a final lick to the holes in your throat, and presses on them with her now marginally less jittering hand. “I need you to take me to her,” She says, voice weak yet commanding. 

“I’m sorry,” you respond, “but who are you talking about.” Your head is spinning and your vision blurry at best, but you seem to be recovering quickly enough. She winces and clutches her side.

“The Mother,” she says, as if each word is a nail driven straight into her skin.

She takes a breath in and closes her eyes again, seeming to focus. The insects file in a line, and looking over you see them disappearing into the mouth of a cave, as well as many surrounding your feet. More insistent pushiness from the bugs. 

“Follow,” is the last thing she says before she starts coughing, gripping her side hard, jade patches of her blood splashing onto her balled fist. So, you do. You scoop her up to find that the bag slung over your back is heavier; holding her, cumbersome due to your difference in height, you approach the gaping hole in the earth where the insects march into, lighting your path.

You descend deep into the winding passageways of the tunnels. It is, remarkably, even darker inside of the cave than it is outside in the forest. If it were not for the insects guiding you through the cave, even your keen nocturnal eyesight would not be able to save you—even with the limited scope of the light, you can see little of what lies ahead aside from more darkness. The echoing of the insects' scuttling legs, your own brisk footsteps, and kicking of rocks is all you can hear, and your nasal passageways are oppressively assaulted by the damp musk of the cave. The sensory deprivation is unsettling, making every step deeper into the cave an anxious one. You thought that the rainbow drinker’s bioluminescence was something of a neat quirk featured in many of the novels you’ve read, but now it is easy understand how being one’s own light source is necessity for any sort of functioning here.

While you walk, the bite on your neck stings— and you wonder, will there still be a ritual? The wound is a constant reminder that you've already been dealt a bite from a rainbow drinker, and without the slightest bit of ritual or pretense. Are you a rainbow drinker now and just don't know it? You feel like you would know, that maybe you would light up your skin on accident or you would feel some sort of uncontrollable blood lust or at least feel instantly ten times cooler. But by all accounts you feel the same, save for the continually growing anxiety. The Auxiliatrix stirs slightly in your grasp and coughs, heaving and anguished, into her hand. You’re startled by the suddenness of her voice, seeming almost loud in the midst of the overwhelming quiet.

“When do you anticipate the arrival of your mortunient,” she struggles to say. You bite your lip. 

“Well. About that. I was kind of hoping that you could explain to me, um. What mortunionship is.” The Auxiliatrix drops her head and a slow, frustrated huff of air exits her though her mouth. 

“So you are not prepared for your duties as an Auxiliatrix.”

“No,” You protest, feeling deep shame wash over you, “I’ve been preparing for this my whole life. I have simply never come across ‘mortunionship’ in my studies. I’m more than willing to learn.” You swallow and wish that she were looking at you instead of hanging her head limply into her chest. You always thought you would feel pride, accepting your place among the others of your caste—you never thought, not even once, that you would be holding the idea of who you want to be, crumpled in your arms.

You see that the darkness of the hallway is fading into dim, reddish colored lighting illuminating the stone of the walls as you approach a seemingly large room.

“Auxiliatrix, I’ll do whatever is needed of me. Please just tell me… what I…” You step into the huge room, the insects dispersing and climbing onto the walls—chemical torches glow softly in the room, and the words drain from your mouth as you look up and gaze upon her. She’s enormous, just her head easily triple the size of your height; her body looks slick and white and pulsates. And then, unsettlingly slowly, the Mother Grub turns her head in your direction as if to gaze at you. Unlike your lusus, she doesn’t seem to have eyes to look at you—only a vaguely troll-shaped head, fangs protruding from her mouth while fluid drips down her chin. She opens her mouth to reveal her thousand-toothed jaws, and lets out a low, rumbling noise. You’re not sure if you should bow to her or lay down and shit yourself. 

“Set me down at the very end of her abdomen,” the Auxiliatrix voices, still struggling on every word, each one a painful commodity. You’re still looking at the Mother Grub, who continues looking back at you with her eyeless face, her tiny useless legs scraping impotently against the ground like she wants to crawl towards you. A shiver vibrates through your spine. The Auxiliatrix snarls and grabs your arm, curling her fingertips like she intends to puncture your skin. “Do as I say, now.” 

You shakily nod and slowly step forward, treading quietly past the Mother Grub, fully aware that she is twisting her head back so that she can still ‘see’ you. Her abdomen is absurdly long; when you finally reach the end of her, you get to take in the sight of her oozing abdominal orifices. The sight makes you want to gag, despite being an honor reserved for only the chosen few of your blood caste. But The Auxiliatrix's claws are still threatening to dig into your skin, so you do as she says. You carefully set her down, and she props herself up against the Mother’s soft, leathery hide. 

You were hoping that you would get some sort of explanation from the Auxiliatrix, after having taken her here, and you’re pretty sure that you provided her a lifesaving meal earlier. But still, she says nothing to you, busying herself with… something. She massages around the Mother Grub’s middle orifice, and you see a few small hair-like strands extending from her abdomen; they seem to attach to The Auxiliatrix’s skin. You stand there and awkwardly watch this strange intimate feeling display, crossing your hands over each other and twiddling your fingers while you wait for it to end. Soon, you see the tip of what you think is a stinger emerging from the orifice—it is white, like the rest of the Mother Grub’s body, but is relatively small. A milky-grey droplet of liquid pools at the very tip of the barb. The Auxiliatrix snatches the drop of liquid in her mouth, rolling it around over her tongue before swallowing; hand placed firmly on the side of the Mother Grub’s orifice, she proceeds to greedily lick and suckle every drop from the barb and you get the feeling that any trace of mortification she should be feeling of doing this in front of you has just been transferred back to you, doubling your own sense of filthiness—she's so absorbed in swallowing down as much fluid as she can that you're not sure if she knows if you're even there anymore.

It’s the longest few minutes of your life as you wait for her to finish. Even as the Mother Grub begins withdrawing the stinger, she keeps her mouth fixed on it. It’s only until her lips touch the orifice and the very tip of the stinger remains protruding that she reaches into a small bag clipped to her side and removes a small vial. The last drop of the fluid she lets drip into the vial, before corking it and returning it to her sachet. She can’t seem to help herself from giving the orifice an extensive licking, lapping up any possible remaining fluid left on the Mother Grub’s body until the spot only glistens with the faintest green hue of her saliva.

Her eyes—moments before sliver-thin—are now glassy and dilated. Her breaths are shallow as she pauses, mouth still poised at the orifice. And finally, with a distinctly relieved sigh, her skin lights up in brilliant white luminance.

Standing up, she turns to you and bows her head, “You have my gratitude, jade blood.” It’s an expression of gratitude that feels cold, but you’ll accept it. Her voice sounds entirely different than it had since you first met her, sounding bold and commanding; outwardly, she still appears sickly, and when she coughs it still sounds wet and painful and blood still dribbles down the corner of her lip. But her luminesce is now almost painfully bright, and she stands tall, no longer having to crumple in your arms. She runs her hand through her hair before continuing. 

“It is my last duty to prepare you to accept your role as my succeeding Auxiliatrix, and unfortunately part of that duty is accepting the transformation into a rainbow drinker."

You nod, “I had been wondering about that… I’m assuming that your bite didn't work?” You work your fingers uncertainly on the fabric of your sleeve. Getting bitten a second time, or however many times it might take, doesn't sound like an appealing venture at this point. You rub your hand against the sore fang-marks in your neck thinking about it.

She just laughs, “Oh, dear. That is not how this works.” She motions for you to follow her. 

“Allow me to explain,” she sighs, anguished and tired sounding, “Precisely what you will need to prepare yourself for.”


	2. Chapter 2

arcaneGamblignant [AG] began beseeching griefAssented [GA]

AG: Porrim!!!!!!!! Are you going to tell me why there are fucking 8ugs attacking my ship right now or is this just a new way you've come up with to say hello????????   
AG: Ugh they're EVERYWHERE!!!!!!!!  
AG: I hope you realize how much green 8ug shit it smeared all over my 8oots right now. You fucking OWE me for ruining them.  
AG: How do you even train a 8ug to carry shit for you and go fuck with someone???????? Please, Maryam, I'm dying to know.  
GA: Yeah  
GA: Thats More Or Less How I Felt When It Happened To Me  
GA: I Would Have Warned You In Advance But You Never Get On Anymore  
AG: Alright then, I'll be expecting those new 8oots on the double.  
GA: In All Seriousness Do You Really Think Id Somehow Train A Swarm Of Insects Just To Bug You  
AG: YES!!!!!!!! Yes you WOOOOOOOOOULD.  
AG: Did you actually WANT something from me 8ecause honestly I can't tell!  
GA: Right  
GA: About That

You fumble at your tablet, thinking about how you could possibly entice miss Marquise Spinneret Mindfang into helping you out, or possibly even explaining the situations you've found yourself in. 

AG: I don't have all night Porrim, especially with these insects up my ass! Can you just spit it out????????  
GA: Okay Im Going To Try  
GA: Please Bear With Me  
GA: The Insects Arent Going To Go Away Unless You Listen To Me So Make Sure To Stay Here Okay  
AG: Fiiiiiiiine.  
GA: So Basically I Was Summoned By The Auxiliatrix To Succeed Her Duty In Taking Care Of The Mother Grub To Serve A Crucial Role In The Perpetuation Of Our Species  
GA: And I Got Swept Away To The Mother Grub's Brooding Grounds And It Turns Out  
GA: Errmm  
GA: That I Kind Of Need You In Order To Proceed  
AG: Heh, figures.  
GA: Shut Up What Im Trying To Say Is That I Have A Proposition For You  
AG: Oh, do you now? It has been something like a sweep without either of us exchanging a simple “hello” and you’re going to 8egin m8king propositions, of The Marquise herself no less?   
GA: To Be Fair This Is More Of A Demand Than Anything Else  
GA: And To Be Honest This Is Probably Going To Be The Most Important Thing You Will Ever Do In Your Life  
AG: I don’t know what the fuck an Auxiliatrix does besides run around perpetuating shitty love triangles and drink blood based on all your trashy romance novels, but I’m pretty sure none of that is more important than me.   
AG: You wouldn’t even 8ELIEVE all of the cool stuff I’ve been doing Maryam. You wouldn’t 8elieve it!!!!!!!!  
AG: So don’t even try to say that whatever you have going on is better than me because I’ve got soooooooo much gold and a deck full of slaves that says otherwise. ::::)  
GA: Do You Really Think That Leading Your Pack Of Gamblignants Around Is More Important Than Our Species Future  
AG: Hey, I’ll contribute a few 8uckets but that’s as far as I need to go. 8n’t my problem.  
GA: If Procuring Some Treasure For You To Plunder Here In The Caves Would Make You Feel Significantly More Piratey That Could Probably Be Arranged  
GA: So Long As You Come  
AG: Alright whatever, you still haven’t even told me what you want, fussy fangs!  
GA: I Was Getting To That  
AG: UGH I see you typing over there! No essays! No Rambling!!!!!!!! Just tell me 8ecause I’m getting really sick of these bugs trying to crawl on me.  
GA: Fine  
GA: I Need You To Come To The Brooding Grounds And  
GA: Umm  
GA: Consummate A Relationship With Me

As soon as you send that message you internally curse and bang your balled fist into your temple because that was probably the worst phrasing you could have chosen in the history of Paradox Space.

GA: Wait  
AG: ...Porriiiiiiiim.  
GA: No Its Not Like That Thats Not What I Meant  
AG: You aren’t even going to try to romance me 8efore sending a 8ooty call my w8y? And after all this time? Frankly, I’m impressed.  
GA: Oh My Gog Its Not A Booty Call  
GA: Its A Ritual  
GA: ...  
AG: Heh.  
AG: This is the weirdest 8ooty call ever, but alright Porrim. I’ll give it a shot, seeing that, as the great pirate I am, I can’t turn away the promise of 8ooty. There’s just one thing. How do I get there?  
GA: Its Not A Booty Call  
GA: Also Just Let The Messenger Drone Take You  
GA: You Know The Huge One With Big Mouthparts Thats Probably Staring At You Right Now  
AG: Oh, that thing? Yeeeeaaaah.  
AG: I kind of shot it.  
GA: What  
AG: Yeah I harpooned that thing. 8n’t my fault it didn’t know that staring is rude. I suppose its corpse won’t do much good, will it?

You cradle your head in your hands; she hasn’t changed at all. You look up and watch The Auxiliatrix walk by—you’re not sure how long she’s been there, walking back and forth like that, carrying things from room to room since the footfall of a rainbow drinker is nearly inaudible. The room she’s walking into is lit strangely, unlike any other place you’ve seen inside of the brooding caverns yet. You lean over while you’re sitting down to try to get a better look. The glow is soft, and very subtly blue-tinted.

AG: Hello????????  
GA: Sorry  
GA: Well You Have A Ship Right  
GA: Have The Other Drones Guide You  
AG: How can I do that?  
GA: I Dont Know  
GA: Just Try Going In A Direction And If They Get Upset Try A New One I Guess  
GA: Theyll Probably Lead You On Their Own After That

Curiosity tugging at you, you get up from your spot in corner of the rocky cave and enter the room—the strange light is immediately cathartic, and you also find that instead of cave rock, the ground is soft, a strange grass-like substance covering it. You want to reach your hands down to feel it between your fingers, but you become curious as to what the Auxiliatrix is busying herself with. You watch her wipe off a stone table, decorated intricately with jade and black swirling patterns—the stone, polished, reflects the unearthly natural glow of the cavern, and only then she reaches into a package and carefully places what it is definitely a tea set on the table—a teapot with a hot plate beneath it, and two cups. It’s a beautiful set, clean and well taken care of, yet certainly an antique—the colors faded and surfaces scuffed.

You’re not sure how Meulin has such a sense for these things, but you blush a little bit suddenly becoming concerned about her other predictions. The Auxiliatrix turns around to look at you, and you see that her eyes are still dilated, eyelids lowered slightly; you look back to your tablet to escape her gaze.

AG: Alright, well the 8ugs are leading me somewhere. I’m sailing after them as we speak.  
AG: At least as I speak, where the hell do you keep disappearing to?  
AG: I’m not sure how long it’s going to take to get there... wherever we’re going.  
AG: You should really be thanking me for doing this, you know!!!!!!!! I’ve got so many other irons in the fire and I’m taking time out of my BUSY schedule to come see you. At this point, I’m going to be expecting a lot more than those new boots!  
AG: Ugh, I don’t know where you are but I’m going to sign off in a second if you’re just going to ignore me! I’ve got other shit to take care of on this ship.  
GA: Can I Ask You A Question  
AG: Sure, shoot.  
GA: Have You Killed Anyone Before  
AG: Wow okay, kind of personal there Maryam.  
AG: But seriously, I’m a fucking pirate—I’m fucking Marquise Spinneret Mindfang—I’ve probably killed more people than whatever absurd amount of shitty rainbow drinker novella you’ve read.  
AG: Why does it matter?  
GA: It Doesnt I Was Just Wondering  
GA: If Thats An Activity You Partake In Regularly As A Gamblignant  
AG: Okay then.

“You cannot be in here yet. Step out.” The Auxiliatrix pushes at your shoulder; it is not a threatening gesture, but she is firm. You exit the room obediently, and not knowing what to do with yourself as she disappears down a tunnel, you prop yourself against the rock wall just outside of the cold, glowing room, letting yourself slide down the wall and plop onto the ground below.

AG: W8 w8 WAAAAAAAAIT.   
AG: I bet you’re planning something nefarious, aren’t you Maryam, you want to bring down the Marquise!  
GA: No  
GA: Stop  
GA: Dont Start With Your Absurd Paranoia Fueled Conspiracy Theories Hinged On Your Own Overblown Ego Do Not Start  
GA: I Just Need Your Help  
GA: Its Just A Visit Between Old Friends  
GA: Okay  
AG: If you say so... but just remember.   
AG: I come prepared!!!!!!!!

arcaneGamblignant [AG] ceased beseeching griefAssented [GA]

You shut your tablet off and drop it on the ground, and you rest the back of your head against the wall while letting out a deep sigh, realizing just how utterly exhausted you are. You shut your eyes, soaking in the moment of rest while you can.

“Jade blood,” you jump at her sudden closeness, the Auxiliatrix crouching in front of you. She digs into her sachet and removes a black box, holding it out for you to take. You accept it, and carefully motion to open it—making sure that your movements are slow, while looking at her to see if she makes any move to stop you. The compact box opens with a tiny creak, and your eyes widen at what lies inside.

"It's beautiful," you say.

“I forged it myself. It is likely the most beautiful of all my works,” the Auxiliatrix states, her voice heavy as she stands up. "Each Auxiliatrix, by ritual necessity, has one. You will offer it to your partner during the consummation of your mortunionship."

You frown. Rest sounds much more appealing than dwelling on that right now. "Thank you, Auxiliatrix," you say, and she nods at you before exiting the room. You close the box and snap it shut with the elegant clips before neatly tucking it into the wrap around your waist, snug and secure.

* * *

The Auxiliatrix’s head perks up first, and you hear the sound of hundreds of messenger drones filing distantly into the cave. Oh fuck. She’s here. You stand up, immediately flustered by the realization as you brush yourself off, brushing your hair with your hands as best you can, and polishing your horns briefly with your fingers, hoping that you can make them at least a little bit glossy. You suddenly become extremely conscious of where you let your hands rest, and shuffle them around awkwardly—finally settling on letting them hang down, slightly bent with your right hand over your left one. You hope you look… respectable. You look at the Auxiliatrix for some guidance, and she looks perfectly calm.

The insects start marching in, and you hear her cursing down the hall. You suppose it’s only fitting that the first time you hear her voice in over a sweep, the first thing coming from it should be a sailor’s curse. 

And then she enters the room, insects pushing and prodding at her heels, squeaking around her; you’re immediately taken with just how tall she’s seemed to have grown in your time apart. Her hair is long and dark, a transfixing bluish sheen shining off of it—you’re less impressed by her gamblignant’s ensemble than she’s probably hoping for. And then she looks up from the insects, her piercing gaze settling on you. You see her eyes pass up and down on you, and you shiver. 

“So you are the jade blood's mortunient,” the Auxiliatrix begins; Mindfang looks away from you to acknowledge the Auxiliatrix. 

“What?” She barks.

The Auxiliatrix blinks her luminesce and begins walking toward the glowing room, and the insects again begin their nearly incessant chattering, bumping their heads against Mindfang’s ankles, while more of them rush forward to do the same to you. Mindfang hisses and files into the room with you, giving you a look. “I wasn’t expecting to be treated like a _prisoner._ ”

You just nod your head, “Neither was I.” 

The Auxiliatrix stops aside the entrance of the room, standing there with hand on her side; she stands there like a guard, and you feel like you should stop and wait for her, but the insects don’t stop their incessant ushering. You and Mindfang are pushed into place near the table. You look to the Auxiliatrix expectantly. 

“Remember that I am responsible for overseeing this ritual,” is all she says before sealing the heavy door shut; you hear her lock it, thoroughly. The bugs disperse, climbing onto the sides of the walls, seeming more interested in getting some rest than anything else. You see their eyes glinting, reflecting the light, and you can’t help but feel like they’re watching you. You are utterly panicked; Mindfang has been watching you, seeming to hope that you would know what was going on, but she is sadly mistaken. Mindfang rushes up to where the door has closed, banging against the solid metal. 

“What the hell?! You’re just going to leave us in here to rot?!” Mindfang kicks and slams into the door, until getting frustrated and kicking the ground. “I’m so fucking stupid! Of course this was some kind of trap to get me locked up!” She looks up and glares at you, “I just didn’t think _you_ would help them with it!” 

You only had a brief moment in this room before: the light floods the room with serene, blue-green ambiance, and the insects have mostly quieted themselves. You expected imposing silence like the rest of the cave, but there is a very low, pleasant humming. You don’t know where it’s coming from, but it fills your ears very subtly, enough to keep them from ringing in oppressive silence. The ground is mossy, forest green, and the shiny centerpiece table beautifully reflects the ethereal light. You take a breath and feel your panic melting away, and the air tastes remarkably clean—incense, smelling of sandalwood, gently accompanies the crispness. The only thing not quite right to your senses is the briskness of the air, noticeably more chill than the rest of the cave.

“All things considered, this is probably the best confinement we could have hoped for. And besides I thought you said you would come prepared.” 

Mindfang is still bristling, apparently not yet taking in the serene calm of the room like you have. She looks back at the door while clutching at the hilt of her sword, certainly doing her damnedest to hatch the most daring escape plan she can muster. But you know that there is nowhere to escape to, only the darkness of the caves infinite tunnels. You walk up to her and dare to gently reach out and touch her shoulder, eliciting a small hiss from her. 

“It’s okay. I know that we’re not going to be stuck here, it’s only temporary.” You say, hoping to comfort her as well as yourself.

“So you are in on it! You’re in cahoots with her!”

“I suppose you could say that. But not in the way you think—trust me, it has been nothing but a constant stream of confusion since I woke up a few days ago. Or day ago. Honestly I’m not quite sure how long it’s been.” She slaps your hand away, and you frown. You ring your hands awkwardly by your waist, and struggle to find words.

“I’m glad that you’re here,” you say sadly, after a moment. She’s still giving you a hard look, but you think that the air might finally be getting to her. “I apologize for the conditions as they are now, but I was beginning to worry I would never get to see you again. You being busy with your swashbuckling, and after this. Well. I will be quite preoccupied with my Auxiliatrix’s duties. And I will be sure to set you free when that decision is mine to make.”

“Oh, so you don’t want me around?” She says, her tough look turning into her signature smirk. 

“Yes. I have asked you to come here because I cannot tolerate your presence and will surely send you away at my earliest convenience.” 

“Heh. There’s no prison that could hold me for long anyway.” 

You see Mindfang’s shoulders relax as she takes in a quick breath. “Smells pretty nice in here,” she idly comments, moving her gaze over to the table, "Is that tea?” 

She makes her way over to the table and surveys the tea set; curious, she opens the lid of the tea pot. You lean over to do your best to see inside also, but you can’t seem to get past her looming figure. She sniffs the tea and places the lid back on. 

“What kind of tea is it?” You inquire. 

“I dunno, but it smells fucking amazing. You should get it started,” she sets her sword down, leaving it leaning against the table, and removes her hat. The blue feather bounces gently when she sets it down, before plopping down into the chair and putting her feet up on the table. 

“I’m exhaaaaaaaausted from my long trip, Porrim.” You roll your eyes; nevertheless, also eager to try the tea, you turn the hotplate on beneath the small, matching pot containing water behind the teapot. 

“What’s that lady’s deal anyway? You said she was an Auxiliatrix, but she looks like shit!”

You sigh, watching the water beginning to bubble, “It must be difficult, down here in the caves. Though rainbow drinkers have very long life spans, what I believed to be infinite, living an entirely subterranean life must take its toll.” 

Mindfang shrugs. “Wouldn’t she have to leave to go suck some blood or something? Unless she drinks bug blood,” Mindfang makes a face, glancing over at one of the arthropods. The water begins a slow boil and you pour it over the tea.

“Gross. I bet the bugs are eating her or something. Which is why she looks like total shit. What else would insects like these do to some rickety old lady in a cave,” she adds flippantly, examining her nails as if bored of the environment around her already.

You look up from your seat, perplexed by the suggestion, your head tilted slightly. “The insects serve the Auxiliatrices in return for their service of the Mother Grub.” 

Mindfang impatiently fiddles with her tea cup, looking at the patterns on the cup with intrigue. “Just sayin’. If I was a hungry bug that’s probably who I’d go after, you know?”

You dismiss Mindfang’s empty rambling—despite what you initially thought upon first meeting them, the insects have thus far appeared quite obedient to the Auxiliatrix’s will, as well as largely harmless. It’s true, that the Auxiliatrix’s death is still perplexing to you—but then again, you feel the same about much that has been going on around you for some time now.

“Give me your cup,” you request. Mindfang holds out the tea cup and you serve her before pouring some for yourself, pouring the silvery liquid into her cup. You pour some into your own and take some time to admire it; it’s oddly sparkly, though still translucent. It looks almost as if a cupful of tiny stars has been poured into your glass. It smells floral, and incredibly spicy, with a unique iron-like edge to it. 

“Would it be alright with you if we set aside the preoccupation with death so that I may propose a toast?” 

Mindfang just laughs, “Toast to what? Being an old lady’s hostage in a bug cave for who knows how long?” She interrupts, and you’re too late. She, apparently not caring about the temperature of the water, is guzzling down her cup. You’re sure, in her mind, she looks just like the swashbuckling buccaneer she so desperately is convinced she is.

“You’re trying too hard,” you say flatly, blowing on your tea before taking a tentative sip, “You’re going to burn yourself.”

She gulps down the last of it and, eyes watering, slams the cup down on the stone table so hard it makes the tea ware jump in its place, and with the most obnoxious ‘aaaaaaaah!’ sound that she can muster. It mostly comes out as a choked sputter. “Pretty strong, nothing I can’t handle,” she spouts, doing her best to hold in a cough. 

“I know that you believe yourself to be the finest of carousers but be careful with the tea ware. If you couldn’t tell they are important antiques.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she rolls her eyes. 

You take a bigger sip of your own tea; it’s even spicier than it smells, your mouth nearly overwhelmed by the complex mingling of cinnamon and cardamom. You feel a bit concerned at the strange aftertaste, however—the faint metallic taste of blood lingering on your tongue. Still, you continue to drink it down. You’re not sure if you like it, but it doesn’t feel optional. 

You go to pour Mindfang another cup. Looking closely, next to the teapot, you notice something—a tiny, empty vial. You’re not sure if this should be a cause for concern. While you sip your tea, the two of you settle into a bit of silence, enjoying the warmth of the tea. Your own cup is nearly empty, and you feel strange, your head feeling woozy, as if its spinning, and you feel as if the light in the cavern has suddenly become more intense. After her second cup, Mindfang sits bent over the table, her chin cradled in her hands with her elbows set on the surface. She’s staring at you, but the look is less intense than what you would expect from her at any given moment, her pupils larger than normal. You yourself feel your body prickling with the distinct feeling of giddiness. 

“What did she mean?” Mindfang suddenly inquires. 

“Hmm?” You hum, finishing the last drop of your tea. You help yourself to another cup, finishing the last of the pot.

“When the Auxiliatrix lady called me your… what was it? More… more-ten… more-tune... mort-onion or some shit like that.”

Your giddiness vanishes in an instant. You shuffle your fingers around your tea cup and take a sip. Mindfang grumbles, impatient, perceptive to your hesitation.

“Come oooooooon, Porrim. I know we’re not here just to sip some tea in a cave.” 

You bite your fang into your lip, “I know.”

Mindfang drums the table with her fingers, waiting on you for some sort of explanation. But for the life you, you have no idea where to possibly start. 

“Well?” She prods again. You sip more of the tea and hold it close you, taking a deep breath and reveling in the fading warmth for some sort of comfort.

“There have been many things I have not expected during my foray into becoming an Auxiliatrix. This is what I’ve wanted for so long. To be able to gain my name, serve the empire, and most of all our species. But,” you stumble on your words, trying to pick them carefully, but your mind is growing hazier by the second. “But some of my lingering feelings are making this more than a little bit difficult.” You think about home, you think about Meulin, you think about the Auxiliatrix and the constant darkness; Mindfang represents only a fraction of your considerations in this moment, though the opportunities passed cross your mind. You curse the vagueness of your words as you see Mindfang consider this remark, and you know that she’s getting some idea in her head. Her mouth slides into a smirk, her fangs poking out and her eyes glinting—she looks downright ecstatic.

“Lingering feelings, huh?” She stands up from her chair, slightly unsteady, and with all her blue-blooded strength tries to pull the heavy stone chair closer to you. It is extremely ungraceful and kind of embarrassing to watch, but she’s determined and succeeds to a small degree. She’s close enough now that she can touch you. Her eyes hang half-lidded as she reaches out to circle a finger on your wrist. It feels electric.

“Wanna stop some of ‘em from loitering?” She slurs. 

You pull your hand away; you’re sure your face is glowing with jade blush, but you feel guilty. Horribly, horribly guilty. “Mindfang there’s a lot I didn’t know I’m sure there’s still a lot I don’t know. Most of all the transition into a rainbow drinker. It’s...” You pause, swallowing, your throat dry. “Not as simple as I have imagined.” 

“Who caaaaaaaares about that right noooooooow,” she says, placing her hand back on you insistently, this time making a bold move to start fiddling with one of your horns, stroking it gently. “Your horns have always been so pretty, dunno how you get ‘em so glossy.”

And it feels good. But you’re getting angry. “Just a minute ago you wanted to know what a mortunient is and now you’re telling me you don’t care.”

She hums, moving from fondling your horns to feeling your hair. Low in her throat, she giggles. “Porrim, I know how to set priorities. You don’t get to be as successful as me and not know how to take an opportunity when you see it,” she takes a breath, and runs her hand through her own thick, black hair. “I think you could learn from me. First lesson is right now.”

You stand up from the chair, fuming. You don’t realize you’re still grasping your tea cup. Standing up is a bit harder of a task that you thought it to be, your head spinning like a top and your body wobbling like Mindfang had, but managing to keep your composure. You make sure to keep the black box tucked at your side. 

“I know that your whole life is composed of unending frivolity and acting on indulgent whims in some idea of freedom, but this is my time. This is the beginning of my life. Don’t be so selfish as to turn it into another moment of your own careless hedonistic impulse.”

Mindfang’s face snaps in an instant from drunken captivation to hardness, teeth gritted and bared. “You’re going to stand there and call me selfish when I set everything aside to come visit you for this cave bullshit?” She stands up suddenly, slamming her hand down on the table to steady herself; even slightly hunched over, she’s probably got a good half-foot of height on you. You stand your ground, feeling your own words starting to smear now.

“Don’t pretend as if you came out of whatever shriveled kindness you may have left in your blood pusher. It’s clearer by the second that you came just to strangle some red investment out of me.”

“You’re the one who made the weird fucking booty call!!” She growls, balling her fists. “And you act like everything I do is fucking easy. Guess what – it’s not!! I worked my ass off to get to where I am now. You think I just had my ship handed to me? You think that that shit takes care of itself? ‘Cause it doesn’t!! Just ‘cause I got tired of being treated like SHIT doesn’t mean I’m selfish for taking time to enjoy myself!!”

She grabs your arm, and you take in a startled gasp. Breathing in, you start to smell both your own and Mindfang’s scents mingling, a kind of smell that you can taste on your tongue, that crackles and pops—and you like how she’s grabbing you. You like how it's rough, desperate even.

“You abandoned your duties to the empire, you abandoned _us_ , to lead the life of a gamblignant,” you take in another shuddering breath, “You just left one day, like you didn’t even care about any of us. I’ve missed you, you know—and knowing you might get culled and I wouldn’t even know. It’s been really hard."

“Thanks, but I don’t need your pity,” she spits. “Have you even thought about your life at all? I know you think you’re some hot jade blood shit, that you’re responsible for perpetuating our people and blah blah blah, but just look for a second. That lady is dying some kind of horrible, slow death, we’ve been pushed around by bugs left and right, and the Auxiliatrices just wait on the Mother Grub night in and night out! What do you get out of it?”

She glares at you hard, and you glare back, pulling away from her. 

“It’s slavery, Porrim. Pure and simple. Stop acting like what the empire wants is everything I should be because you know what the empire wants? Fucking slaves. And you’re so convinced this is what you want like it’s some kind of high honor, but it’s fucking not.”

You’re shaking now, hand gripped so tightly around the tea cup that it’s going numb—and it’s not from having some kind of revelation handed to you, but because you’re so fucking angry your think pan is getting ready to short circuit and your vision is blurring. You cannot stomach her selfish, insulting, self-righteous speeches. You might be snarling, you don’t know; you just feel vitriol pumping through your veins. You grind your teeth, staring at her, not knowing what to say, still tasting her pheromones electric on your tongue. The feeling spreads through your body—a bizarre sensory mix of anger, hatred even, and physical reaction to her pheromones.

“So excuse me if I take the opportunity to make something of myself, and enjoy myself while I’m doing it,” she sneers. You growl. It’s almost cute, how she thinks she can change you.

“I feel bad for you,” the words drip, cold, from your mouth. “Being so utterly disillusioned about yourself.” 

Mindfang growls, no words left. And that’s when you feel the tingling of Mindfang’s control on your foggy and loose mind, watching the anger bristle in her cerulean eyes. You didn’t notice that her colored pigment had almost finished filling in. She’s obviously been practicing, in the sweeps you’ve known her, she has never been able to control you. Perhaps she’s never wanted to, but you wouldn’t give her that much credit. But now you finally know what it feels like. Her grasp is not enough to change your thoughts or alter your emotions—which might have be what she was going for, and you’re glad that you can frustrate her further—but you feel your fingers go slack around the shallow ceramic cup, and it slips from your hand. It shatters against the ground at your feet, and slowly Mindfang’s devious, toothy smirk slides back onto her face.

“What happened to taking care of the tea ware? That was a priceless ancient Alternian ceremony cup! That antique has passed through the countless grasps of other jade bloods – the Auxiliatrix lady trusted you with it – and you’re the one who let it break.” Her words, though slurred, leak equally with pleasure and venom. You cannot move your body as she steps toward you, held in mental bondage. She makes you look away, just so that she can roughly grab your chin and point your gaze into her own, inches away from your face. You suppose that she had hoped to see a trace of fear, but she is only met with defiance. She shakes her head at you, letting a condescending ‘tsk’ escape her lips.

“You’re a fool to think such carelessness will go unforgiven. You owe me.” Mindfang draws a finger down your lips, feeling one of your sharp fangs for a moment before leaning down and taking your lips into a kiss. It’s hungry and vindictive. The tea is heavy on her breath, still overwhelmingly spiced, and the smell of her dances through your senses, sharpening them; her pheromones penetrate your already clouded think pan, and heat spreads through your body. You feel her control weaken on you and you feel her shudder, being hit by your own sharp spike of chemicals, and you don’t waste time; you deepen the kiss, swiping your tongue across her teeth. You then bite down on her lip, enough to draw out a startled breath of air and a dribbling stream of cobalt blood. It tastes cool, refreshing almost, if it were not for the salty metallic tang.

“I am not your prey,” you growl into her mouth, grabbing her by the collar of her dumb gamblignant’s jacket. You hold the kiss for one for one more moment before pulling away—Mindfang’s face is lit up with a blush, her eyes half-lidded, mouth clenching back down into a snarl. She tries to make some sort of move, wobbling, and you use all of your strength the shove her onto the ground. She hits the floor with a heavy thud, but not without grabbing your leg and pulling you down with her (thankfully not into the shattered ceramic.) You feel her trying to impose her will on you again within your mind, and you feel your body crawl on top of her, straddling her lap. You immediately feel a wave of panic, realizing that she’s making you undo your wrap, where you’ve stored the black box. While you work at the tie, she wantonly reaches out and drags her hand down your now exposed leg, stroking it back up and punctuating her touch by suddenly digging her claws into your leg—drawing blood, revenge for her bleeding lip. You don’t notice that you are bleeding until you look down and see the streaks of jade on your leg; you also notice how the blue light wraps around Mindfang, illuminating her beautifully. Your shaking hands are still working at the wrap around your waist when you finally pull it off of yourself, letting it fall and bunch up gracelessly on the ground next to the two of you. You feel a pang of embarrassment accompanying the pang of panic. The black box lands at her side, and you hope the sight of you in your panties, bulge half-way unsheathed, is enough to distract her; you see her eyes flick to the box, but then back to you. You bite your fang down into your lip, realizing her intermittent mind control has vanished again. She takes her time greedily soaking in the sight of you, and tentatively runs her finger on the fabric of your panties, feeling the lips of your nook. It makes your shudder and bulge throb, feeling wetness from your nook beginning to dampen your panties.

But she sits up, shifting you down. She reaches for the box.  
You hold your breath tight in your chest, watching her examining it; she sees the effect is has on you, so you know that she is going to draw it out as much as possible, a small smirk slipping onto her face. 

“So was this the treasure you were talking about, or is there some kind of dirty secret hiding in here?” Not waiting to hear your answer, she flips open the elegant clamps slowly, enough for her to savor the look of mortification on your face. She lifts the lid of the box open. Her eyes scrunch tight, suspicious, and she looks at you with a deadly glare.

“So, you really were planning on killing me.”

You finally breathe. You have to stop her run-away train of paranoia before it gets out of control, but fuck your head is so hazy and your body is buzzing with all sort of things—the guilt, the lingering anger, arousal, and not to mention the bizarre effects of the tea. 

“No Mindfang that’s not it at all. It doesn’t have to do with you—I mean it does, but not that you are going to be some kind of victim. Look I mentioned the complexities of becoming a rainbow drinker and I…” You swallow, and your body is shaking. You watch her remove it from the box, and you feel a piercing dread at the very sight of it: the handsaw that the Auxiliatrix had given to you. Inspecting it, she holds it by its hilt, which is adorned in curling golden decoration; the edge of the subtly curved blade is serrated, and aside from the gold decoration of the hilt, the entire thing, blade and all, is pearly white. 

“Do you care to know what a mortunient is now?” You murmur, peeking up. She’s not making a move to make any snide comments, nor is she making any move to stop you, so you continue, sucking in a sharp mouthful of air. 

“The Auxiliatrix informed me that this is a normal part of every Auxiliatrix’s life, an event that we all must suffer to undergo the transformation into a rainbow drinker. We establish this bond, mortunionship, with a chosen partner—their mortunient.”

“You look ridiculous explaining this in your panties, fussy fangs,” she quips. You would be irritated if you were not wracked with guilt, for not telling her sooner—when she had any choice in the matter. You take a deep breath.

“You have to kill me Mindfang.” 

And her eyes go from suspicious and condemning to alarmed, offended even. “Excuse me?"

“It’s the only way. That’s the purpose the mortunient serves, to kill their partner. It’s the only passage into becoming a rainbow drinker.” 

She stares at you in disbelief, and throws the handsaw back into its box. You look at each other for a moment, and you see her slowly erupt back into bristling anger. “Porrim, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this shit? It’s fucking insane. I don’t know who the fuck you think I am, but I’m not going to fucking kill you for some bullshit superstition. It doesn’t even make sense! I shouldn’t have to explain that if someone _kills_ you, you _die_.”

You look down. You feel like you’re about to burst into tears, feeling as though you are being wrenched apart. “I am sorry. But that’s what the Auxiliatrix has told me. And I trust her.”

“You trust her.” Mindfang twinges, glaring at you.

“You _trust_ her…” She says, rolling the words dangerously over her tongue before spitting them out.

Mindfang suddenly leaps at you, grabbing your arms and pinning you to the ground; the black box is tossed the side. She bites at your neck and chin possessively, angrily, and—creeping back into your mind—makes you move what you can of your arms, fumbling with the buttons on her jacket. She growls at you while you do so, the buttons popping free, one, by one, by one, while she hooks a finger under the hem of your panties, sliding them down. You feel swept up in a maelstrom of turmoil—you can’t remember why you were angry at her, feeling overwhelmed with guilt. You want to cry. You want her. You want to fulfill your duties, not wanting to falter in your decision; but her touch is insistent, mesmerizing, and consuming. The world around you swirls and spins as if spinning on the head of a top, as if falling into a trance, becoming only two things: destiny, clouding your mind; Mindfang, absorbing your senses. 

You finish unbuttoning her long jacket while she has ripped open your blouse, not seeming to care about tearing the fabric of the handmade garment. She stands up abruptly to kick off her boots and pants and remaining undergarments on her lower body, and you hope that she’s finally cursing her ridiculous layered gamblignant’s outfit as much as you have. Looking at her, standing above you, makes you shiver and invites a warm jade blush to flood your cheeks and chest. Maybe she was right—maybe you should learn to take an opportunity when you see one. She’s still in your mind while you sit up, shifting to your knees; you lean into her and caress her sides, bringing your hands down to drag your fingers across her inner thigh and run it across her glistening nook, nipping at the base of her slow writhing bulge. 

You lap tentatively against her bulge and then glide your tongue down, parting the folds of her nook, savoring the taste of her. She sighs as you lick your way up to the tapered tip of her bulge, and you feel her grab your horn, tightening her fingers hard around it. You then take her into your mouth, being careful of your fangs while sliding a few inches in until you feel most of her bulge covering your tongue; she writhes it slow in your mouth, your tongue slicking around her bulge to match its movements. You look up at her as she insistently shoves more of herself into your mouth, tugging at your horn hard while you do your best to keep up, your hand placed at the side of her leg while you busy your other hand with stroking her nook, touches distracted and inconsistent. Her expression is still tangled with anger, but tempered by pleasure.

“I don’t suppose you have any more hoofbeast shit to spew out of your protein chute, do you Miss Maryam?” She sneers at you, her voice slurred and breathy, and you shut your eyes tight when she grabs your hair rough and forces you down hard, tentative spurts of her genetic material dripping into your mouth; you dig your claws into her leg and grind them into her flesh, drawing out her blood. Mindfang hums, pleased, and lets you pleasure her a little bit longer before pulling you off of her bulge, and taking her own turn to shove you to the ground.

She positions herself over you, then lifts your legs up and makes herself comfortable between them; while she does this, you feel her release you from her control. You have mixed feelings about letting her push you around like this, but you want to let her take what she wants; at this point, given the state of disarray you’re in, your head clouded and aching for her, you suppose you don’t mind. She slicks her bulge languidly across the entrance of your nook. She licks her lips. You worry your fang into you own lip and grip her hair. She’s watching you while she smears herself around your entrance, drinking in your expressions, savoring in drawing out your anticipation until it is unbearable. 

“You want it?” She asks, but it sounds more like a taunt. 

“Yes,” you choke out, gripping her hair a bit harder, “Please.”

She smiles and grabs your waist tight, still stroking her bulge against your swollen entrance and just barely swiping the tip in and out—she scratches down your sides, leaving green wakes down your flesh, and sinks her fangs down into the crook of your neck. Hard. You yelp more at the mere surprise of the action rather than whatever pain it might cause, because rather than sharp pain like the Auxiliatrix’s bite, pleasure blossoms from the spot. It’s disorienting and confusing and incredible, and its then that she presses her bulge deep into your nook. You’re stretched out suddenly, her thick length clenched tight between the pulsing walls of your nook. You think that that, too, should hurt—but you moan out in ecstasy, arching your back and sliding her your hands down to her shoulders. She holds your leg firm with one hand, keeping you spread open, and caresses the underside of your thigh while thrusting into you, her full not yet length inside of you. You breathe heavy in-tune with her rhythm, but she doesn’t meet your gaze. Her head is down, and the curtain of her hair tickles as it brushes your chest. 

She slides her free hand from your waist down to your bulge. She fondles the tip and your nook clenches down harder on her bulge in reaction; she stops her thrusting, and you grip her shoulder hard. Your body is buzzing with ecstasy and oh god you don’t want her to stop.

“Mindfang…” You whine, moving your hips up and down as much as you can on her bulge sunken inside of you. 

“Shut up. Don’t be so impatient,” she snaps at you. You nick her shoulder for that. She lifts her body up a little, guiding your own bulge into her entrance. She sinks herself slowly down onto it, gasping and moaning, driving it deep inside of her—she feels _amazing_ and you spurt a bit at the sensation, the inside of her nook soft and slick and smooth, and the coolness of it reminds you of velvet as your bulge pulses within her. You can’t help but squirm up and down on her bulge, simultaneously driving herself into you, and you into her.

You feel dizzyingly and wholly overwhelmed with pleasure—she rocks back and forth inside of you, finally shoving herself in hilt deep. The tip of her bulge tickles the entrance of your gene bladder before penetrating it. You moan loud and wild, tears beginning to roll down your face. You feel the tight opening of her own gene bladder deep within her and stroke the tip of your bulge against it. Mindfang groans and clenches at the intense sensation. She lets out an airy squeal as you sink the tip of your bulge into it; both of your thrusts become shallower due to the steady thickening of your bulges—any option of pulling out becoming more and more difficult by the second. Panting, she grabs your rumble spheres, running her hand along one of your nipples before moving it to your neck. She’s gentle at first, hazy blue eyes looking into your teary ones, but she tightens her grip hard as she speaks.

“I could take you with me,” she growls, and it rumbles low in her throat. “You could be my consort. I’m sure that, ahh… I’m sure that you would be my favorite. I wouldn’t make you live with my other crew,” she breathes in, and you have no idea how she can even form words, let alone voice some latent fantasy while the two of you are immolated by overwhelming ecstasy. 

“You could live with me in my quarters and we could go—“ She gasps as your bulge twinges inside of her, “—we could go on adventures together, alive. I’m s-sure, ah, it would be better than— _ahh_ … Being stuck here.” 

Shut up. You want her to _shut up_ , but any words you could form exit as choked moans, her hand tight around your neck, tears still dripping down your face. You scrape trembling claws against her shoulders, hoping she’ll get the message, and she grinds down into you as hard as she can; you feel ecstasy spread from your core to your whole body, as if infecting you—it burns like a fire, in your head, through to the very tips of your fingertips. You can’t hold back a scream while you feel it engulf you. Mindfang tightens her grip around your neck again; her eyes are shut, head tilted down over you, and mouth hanging open the slightest bit, your name hot on her breath, uttering it quietly like a prayer. The light around her shudders and swirls, if only slowly, and your senses scream—overloaded with pleasure, sight and sound seeming to absorb it and reflect it back at you.

You can’t hold it back any longer—your nook clenches tight around her and your bulge spurts genetic material fast and desperate into her gene bladder. Mindfang cries out, and her own nook tightens and ripples around you, her bulge pumping her genetic fluid into you. You sob and squirm and choke in pleasure, holding yourself to her as she fills you. 

The two of you are left panting and shuddering, utterly spent. Mindfang leans down and kisses you slowly and deeply; you place your quivering hand behind her head and return it, still feeling your engorged bulges twitching inside of each other. You break the kiss to breathe, and collapse your head against the ground. Mindfang falls on top of you and slings an arm over your chest, resting her head over your own. You adjust your body to accommodate the slightly awkward position, enjoying the comfort of the embrace while you can—might as well, seeing that you will be stuck together for some time. 

The two of you lay in silence for a while, and her sudden question is what rouses you from drifting off into sleep.

“Soooooooo,” she begins, breath even, “What do you think?”

“Hmm?” You answer, blinking slowly as you stare at the ceiling and watch the tiny blue lights move around in their swirling motions. They’re slow, motion barely noticeable, but it’s there. You wonder if it’s been like that the whole time. Mindfang lets out a huff of air, and you feel it, cool on your hair.

“Come with me,” she repeats again, clutching you tight. “We can bust out of here, you won’t have to die, and you can be my consort. We can do whatever we want.” You don’t reply at first, feeling around you for the black box. You draw it close to you and hold it to your side. 

“I’m sorry Mindfang,” you sigh, exhausted. 

Mindfang doesn’t say anything. She immediately slips her arms away from you and sits back up over, to get a better look at your face. Her look is at first soft and glassy, but she hardens it while she looks at you. Then she scoffs, “Well, if you think I’m gonna do it, I’m not. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to kill you for no reason.”

You’re not really sure how to put your thoughts to words; you start shaking again, if only slightly. “I know that you don’t get it or care about why I need this but—“ Your attempted explanation is cut off by the sound of a sword being taken out of its sheath, and you see the tip of a white blade hovering close to Mindfang’s head. You feel Mindfang jump; startled, she whips her head up—for a split second she looks panicked as a deep blue blush spreads over her face, then hardens it back to anger, the intruder not making another move at Mindfang.

“You will do it,” and it’s the Auxiliatrix’s voice. You immediately feel cold engulf your body, embarrassment more than an understatement—you’ve just been caught post-coitus—who knows how long she’s been watching—by your mentor, and if you weren’t ready to die before you definitely are now. Mindfang gives her a defiant growl. 

“Look, bitch. I’m not going to kill her, everything about this is beyond fucked up. She’s going to come with me, I’m not going let you keep her.” You cannot move your head to see the Auxiliatrix, but you hear a quiet disapproving ‘tsk.’ She’s probably shaking her head at Mindfang.

“You want her to live as a failure, vagabond forsaken from her duty?” She presses the sword against Mindfang’s head, just above her eyes. Your heart rate quickens, beating the panic through your veins.

“You want her to live as a felon, nothing more than an animal to be hunted, punished, and killed for the denial of her blood borne caste?”

Mindfang tries to push the sword away, but the Auxiliatrix’s grip is surprisingly strong and she refuses to let it move. You feel Mindfang try and pull out of you, to get away, but you cry out in pain, feeling like she's going to rip a part of you out; her own eyes are shut tight with agony, and she stops. 

“Even if she were to remain dead, her jade blood spilled on this hallowed ground would be an exaltation upon her. She would die among her sisters, she would die with her heritage. And yet,” The Auxiliatrix slowly, agonizingly, draws the blade across Mindfang’s forehead, cerulean leaking out, “You seem intent on forcing her to live, an empty shell devoid of purpose.”

She winces as the blood drips into her eye.

“Auxiliatrix, please,” you beg, “Please don’t hurt her.” But the sword remains in place.

“A mortunient who renounces their duty to their partner becomes resigned to their death, just as much as the jade blood they have abandoned. If she does not want to die, she will accept your gift.” 

You pause briefly before feeling for the black box at your side, and you look up again to see the horror in Mindfang’s eyes. With shaking hands, you offer it to her. “Please Mindfang. Just do it, I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to die.”

Mindfang reaches for the box, taking it from you, but she makes no motion to open it and remove the handsaw. “This old drinker bitch has been standing here talking shit about you this whole time and you’re not even going to say anything about it?” You flinch—the Auxiliatrix suddenly twisting and slamming the hilt of the sword into her temple—drawing a hiss from her. 

“No. She’s right.” You pause, the Auxiliatrix holding the sword back to her head. “This is where I belong.”

You see Mindfang’s face sink, anguished, hurt, angry, staring at the black box. “You deserve better than this,” she growls, flipping up one of the clips, if only to keep the Auxiliatrix from stabbing her in the head.

“This is what I want.” You reply, resolute. 

Mindfang flips up the other clip of the box, and opens it. “You really want to live and die here as a servant just because you can’t think of anything better?” The Auxiliatrix presses hard into Mindfang’s skull, not hard enough to break any bone, but certainly hard enough for Mindfang to draw the handsaw out. 

“This ceremony has gone on long enough,” the Auxiliatrix threatens. Mindfang doesn’t take her eyes off you, bringing her hands towards you.

“I don’t want to do this,” Mindfang says, her eyes glassy and wincing with pain while she presses the blade, trembling, against your throat. You can’t seem to stop yourself from shaking either, the innate reaction of facing your own death, but you don’t want to give Mindfang any reason to stop.

“Just tell me again,” she says, her hand quaking wildly, “Tell me that this is what you really want.”

You breathe in, a life at sea briefly flashing before your eyes, but you send it away. “This is what I want.” 

She bites her teeth down and tears start rolling down her face, mingling with the blood dripping from her wounds. She looks back up at the Auxiliatrix, eyes pleading, who responds by pressing the blade hard between her wet eyes; her tears drip onto your face as she sobs, anguished. "This is what I want," you repeat again, just as much assuring yourself as you are Mindfang, sword pressed to her skull.

You felt certain that you could entrust your death to the hands of a killer—knowing that she has killed hundreds before you, before ever bringing this blade to your throat. So it surprises you when her attempt at a swift and efficient motion at slitting your throat fails; it doesn’t cut deep enough, and blood leaks out of your neck slow enough to be cruel, slow enough that you can recount it clearly, and the pain causing you to scream in agony, at some futile attempt to relinquish it. You think you hear her curse in between the gasps of air she takes between tremoring sobs.

You are only vaguely aware of the blade slicing through your throat this time, fixated on Mindfang as she did it—you see her wavy face as your body screams out for oxygen, jade pooling quick around your head. The lights in the room seem to become unbearably bright—you want to lift your arm, to reach out for Mindfang, what left you can see of her as the bright white light consumes your vision, but you are far too weak. You can’t seem to hear much of anything in your ears, perhaps blood filling them; death, you suppose, is quiet. Time itself tears apart. You see blue lights exploding like silent fireworks in your vision, and with each explosion comes a rush of euphoria, so numerous and reflecting a beauty that you could only see behind dead eyes.

Your vision burns away into darkness, the exploding blue lights fading out against the black background. The last thing you hear before surrendering to oblivion is Mindfang’s scream, distant, echoing into the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Your hands shake uncontrollably as you pull the handsaw from her throat, white blade dripping with jade. You watch her convulse and hemorrhage on the floor, sputtering, and all you can do is sit there and watch her—her eyes look as if they are seeing something beyond you and your heart feels like it stops, breath stuck in your lungs. You fucked up, you fucked up, you fucked up, _you fucked up_ , is all that repeats in your head while you sit there on top of your dying friend, reaching out to hold her head, to provide some kind of comfort while she bleeds out. The tears burn your eyes and a scream hangs dry, trapped in your throat.

It’s then that you see little lights, at first crawling up to Porrim slowly, calm—but then they start to swarm, latching onto her skin, swirling in their distinct shapes up her arms, on her neck, on her chest, everywhere. You are, at first, taken by the surreal sight of lights emerging from the cave’s ground, the room’s light becoming concentrated around the two of you. But you see that they’re leaving jade streaks on her body, beads of blood bubbling up all over and leaving behind black stains on her skin. 

It’s attacking her. You bring your hands down frantically, trying to sweep away the swirling, gathering mass that is drawn to her flesh. You rip a handful from her body—insects, legs flailing wildly as you hold them in your hand, abdomens lit up like the messenger drones, and at the very end of their abdomens are long, needle-like stingers, droplets of venom smearing on your palm. You crush them in your hand, and do what you can to brush them away from her; you end up crushing some while they are embedded in her skin, and you work on tearing the assaulting mass from her body. But they’re too much, their swarm too oppressive, growing larger by the second as they scuttle against and press into her body. They cover her, everywhere save for her face, in a writhing mass. You feel them squirming against your legs—and that dry scream you had held inside comes hurdling out of you. You try to pull away, trying to escape the vicious and all-consuming mass of the insects. But you’re still stuck inside of her—you’re still stuck hilt deep inside of her _corpse._

You fucked up. You fucked up big time. You have never fucked up so bad in your life. This is the pinnacle of fucked up that you can ever hope to achieve in your swashbuckling life.

You cover your eyes while you sob dryly into your hands, the Auxiliatrix’s cold stare weighing heavy on you. It feels like an eternity while you feel the insects brush up against your legs and exposed pelvis, at least consoled by the fact that they don’t seem interested in your flesh; you feel the swarm begin to slow, and you peek out from behind your hands. You see that many of the insects have fallen off of her body, the light in the room being extinguished one-by-one like candles as they die off. As they roll off her, lifeless, they reveal her body like a curtain unfurling upon a stage—you see that her skin is covered in black curving stripes, on her arms, neck, chest… everywhere, where the insects had stung into her, somehow culminating in organized lines across her flesh. 

The room's light continues to fade into darkness, until only a few insects and the Auxiliatrix's own dim light are left remaining. You stare at Porrim, waiting for her promised revival, and you can still feel her body warm around your bulge—thankful that it's almost ready to pull out. You sit there in the silent room, waiting, waiting, waiting… But there is no twitch of her hand, no batting of her eye. Nothing. You look up at the Auxiliatrix, and she looks back at the two of you, nothing in her dilated, glowing eyes. 

You feel as though a hole has been burned in your chest; you feel nothing, nothing except frigid vitriol coursing through your heart.

You pull out of her silently, and you feel the Auxiliatrix watching you while you make your way over to the table; you’re breathing heavy as you fall against the table for a moment, trying to catch your panicked breath, before lurching over and grabbing your sword. You draw it from its sheath.

“She’s dead,” you growl, turning around. The Auxiliatrix is still fixed on you, and as you stride forward, she drops her sword. If she thinks she’s going to save herself through pacifism, she is sadly mistaken; you snarl and grab the collar of her dress, throwing her to the ground next to Porrim—you make sure that she lands on the shattered ceramic. 

“She’s dead,” you repeat again. She’s pitiful, a sad, shriveling woman, and you slam the hilt of your sword against her head and she keels over; the force of your blow so strong you think you might have heard her skull crack a little bit. The sound is like a drop of blood to a shark’s nose.

You unleash a shattering war cry from your throat, more like a roar than anything else, and stab your blade into her—you slash, cut, and stab, making sure to _twist_ , but you don’t aim for any lethal areas, no. You want her to suffer, you want to see her own jade blood against the ground of this cave, you want to paint the walls with it, the room steadily flickering into utter darkness while you beat and cut her life away—illumination fading from her skin.

And then it happens. You see the slit on her throat quickly start to heal itself, sewing itself back together until all that remains is a wet, green scar. Porrim’s eyes open wide, eyes glowing yellow, pupils thin and cat-like, and she sucks in a desperate breath of air as if she is surfacing from the bottom of the ocean, coughing and sputtering while the stray pools of blood in her throat come out, showering over her legs. With a final stab, you leave your sword sunken inside of the Auxiliatrix and go to kneel by Porrim, holding her steady while she trembles. 

“Bring her closer,” the Auxiliatrix says weakly while blood spills from her mouth. 

You growl at her, possessive. “She can hear you just fine from right here, bitch.” 

The Auxiliatrix looks through you, seemingly unable to focus her dilated eyes. “The jade blood has earned the right to inherit my name, having accepted her duty,” her eyes are like fogged of glass, staring into oblivion as she speaks. 

“My name,” she says with every last bit of remaining strength, tremoring, her illumination gone. “My name was The Dolorosa.”


	4. Chapter 4

You had walked with Mindfang, holding her arm through the dark forest and serving to light her path. You had no idea what time of day it was, having exited the cave after consummating your mortunionship—you remember how the rain had been falling, Mindfang offering her hat to you to help keep you dry, while you listened to the detritus mush beneath your footsteps as you walked together on the path.

You had reached the beach—it was sunrise, as you recall—and you had seen Mindfang’s ship on the shore, waiting patiently for her return. Her eyes were so tired, looking empty with only the edges of her fire burning in them when she looked down at you.

“Will I ever see you again,” she had said. Her voice was rough and weak. You looked down at the ground and kicked the wet sand at your shoes. You wanted that to be true. But you had known, even since then, what the answer would be.

“Someday. Maybe,” is what you told her. She just looked back up, gazing out into the ocean.

“Yeah,” she said.

You remember when you motioned to take the hat off, to return it to her, but she was insistent. She had wanted you to keep it. You don’t remember exactly the words you said to her, perhaps as simple as “Goodbye Mindfang,” while you had nuzzled into her. But you remember her simple words—“Later, Dolorosa”—and the trail of her footsteps, how they had disappeared quickly into the wet sands. 

You remember how much the pain had wreaked your body, how two of the Auxiliatrices had dragged you back into that room where your mortunionship had been consummated. You were screaming. The black marks covering your body had grown swollen, so much so that they protruded slightly off your body. They had told you to quiet down, the tears streaming down your face, while they tore your gown off so that you would lay naked against the soft earth. You remember how it felt as the insect nymphs—ready to hatch from the eggs lain in your flesh—forced their way out from beneath your skin, skittering away, burrowing into the soft ground. You had cried and cried and cried, until your whole body was left bleeding from the thousands of tiny holes bored through your flesh. Stop crying they told you, having tossed a rag on you, for you to wipe away the blood from your defiled body. Your skin had healed slowly, black-stained scar tissue covering much of your body in the same swirling pattern. They were just as much badges of honor as markers of your bondage. 

They had taken your tablet, your hat, your tea cup, your pictures—they had taken everything that you had brought in from the outside world. And you wept, too, when they had cast all of your belongings into the sea. You remember hearing your olive tea cup shattering distantly against the rocks below, the ocean’s waves crushing your possessions against the cliff before swallowing them up in the undertow. You yourself, of your own volition, had torn the pages from _A Sultry Tale_ and let them flutter over the cliffside, spreading them over the sea like ashes from an urn. You could no longer bear to look at it.

But that was long ago, when you were young.

Now, it’s all the same. You have completed your brooding duties for the day, tending to the larvae, and now your hunt is drawing to a close. The troll trembles, shaking in frozen panic, caught in your powerful grasp. They beg for your mercy, they always do, and you tell them that it’s going to be okay right before sinking your fangs into the pulse on their neck. They scream, and they always thrash around, always having to hold them down in your lap; the warm splash of blood used to invigorate you, the warmth that you crave filling your stomach, yet it doesn’t feel good anymore. It never tastes quite good enough, never quite the right texture—it never satisfies. Sometimes even, when fresh blood pulses onto your tongue, you want to gag. You press on the wound to help it clot—some of them cry, some of them sit there in silence and wait for it to be over. You’re caught off guard when this one draws a small blade from their sleeve and stabs you just below your ribcage; you hiss, but place them on the floor. You’ve seen other Auxiliatrices do it, some of them dump their prey on the ground, some of them like to tear their prey apart. It’s disgusting—all of you, alike.

You don’t know how long it’s been since you became The Dolorosa, having become a predator of your own species and a servant of another. Time seems to lose all sense of meaning, trapped in a prison, however honorable it may be. You make your way back through the tunnels, clutching the wound while you limp to shelter. Eventually you reach the dim red room, managing to avoid many of the other Auxiliatrices, to find the Mother Grub resting; you place your hand on her pulsating side, and slide it along her leathery flesh as you walk to the very end of her abdomen. You settle down there. Even the messenger drones, who had been here at the start of your journey, are now gone—expired past their lifetime. You never thought you’d feel bereft at the loss of loud, bothersome insects. But here you are, alone, the proud Auxiliatrix you’ve always wanted to be.

You feel her tendrils tickle against your skin. You lean your head back against her, the hair-like tendrils feeling electric on the back of your neck, and you feel yourself calming at the sensation. You reach your hand out to kneed at her second highest orifice, squeezing the flesh gently between your fingers. Her stinger slowly emerges, the venom coming out in a slow drip. You let it fall into your mouth.

Instantly, your body feels at ease. Your tired muscles relax, and the stinging pain of the wound dissolves away; rich and metallic, it tastes more delicious than any blood that you have ever tasted. You need more. You suck at the barb, venom splashing into your throat, and your body feels weightless, like it’s barely there. You’re flying, freer than you’ve ever been; euphoria burns through your body like a wildfire, from your very core to the very tips of your fingers.

It’s only here you know that things are going to be okay. It’s only here that you are free, your existence vibrating with pleasure, painless. Here, you don’t need anyone. The venom mends the hole in yourself, more completely than anyone ever could, and you shift up against the Mother Grub, shutting your eyes to drift off into sleep.

You are happy. You don’t know why you ever doubted that you were. 


End file.
